The Shepherd's Crown (Discworld, #41; Tiffany Aching, #5)

by Terry Pratchett

Tiffany looked at it and said to herself, I do what is needful, Mrs. Earwig, not what I want to do.

Humans, however, were usually the last to notice anything.

Then she wondered, not for the first time, about the differences between wizards and witches. The main difference, she thought, was that wizards used books and staffs to create spells, big spells about big stuff, and they were men. While witches—always women—dealt with everyday stuff. Big stuff too, she reminded herself firmly. What could be bigger than births and deaths? But why shouldn’t this boy want to be a witch? She had chosen to be a witch, so why couldn’t he make the same choice?

It doesn’t take much to delight an elf. Hurting something is usually top of their list, but music comes a close second.

Maggie bridled. “But can’t I stay here?” she wheedled, putting on her best little-lassie voice for her father. “I like it here, ye ken, and I dinnae want to ha’ a husband”—she said the word like it was an abomination to her—“and babbies. I want to be a warrior.”

“You are no queen now. Do you have a name?” “Nightshade, my lady.” “Aye,” said the kelda. “A poison.”

“My Tiffany is doing a man’s work every day.” He thought for a moment (especially since he knew that what he said might easily get back to his wife via Mrs. Parsley). “Better than that, she’s doing a woman’s work,” he added.

“You must understand that elves are seen as vindictive, callous, spiteful, untrustworthy, self-centered, undeserving, unwelcome nuisances—and that’s being nice.

Young Esme is growing up fast, and I want her to see that there’s more to being a queen than waving hellos—we don’t want her to start kissing frogs, now, do we? We all know how that can turn out!”*

“Trust me,” said Queen Magrat. “Crowns are important, you know.”

For one person alone cannot survive. We humans definitely need other people to keep us human.”

A princess doesn’t have to be blond and blue-eyed and have a shoe size smaller than her age, she thought.

“It’s like chess, you know. The Queen saves the King.”

And yes, there was Maggie in their midst—a Feegle daughter fighting alongside her brothers! And indeed fighting even more furiously than her brothers. Tiffany thought, She’s like a small Ynci. The Feegle maid had been waiting for something like this to prove herself, so woe betide any elf who got in her way. It was one small step for a Feegle lassie—but a giant step for all Feegle womenfolk!

A shepherd’s crown, not a royal one. A crown for someone who knew where she had come from. A crown for the lone light zigzagging through the night sky, hunting for a single lost lamb. A crown for the shepherd who was there to herd away the predators. A crown for the shepherd who could work with the best sheepdogs any shepherd could possibly have. A shepherd’s crown. And she heard again that voice: Tiffany Aching is the first among shepherds, for she puts others before herself. . . . A king of shepherds. No . . . a queen.